


end of the line, and all that

by I_mNotYourEnemy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 13:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17488586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_mNotYourEnemy/pseuds/I_mNotYourEnemy
Summary: Steve would like the twenty first century, Bucky thinks. The world is smaller and the universe is bigger than ever.Or: S.H.I.E.L.D. found Bucky long before he ever became the Winter Soldier. Bucky spends decades working as an agent until one day, they pull him off a mission to babysit the newly defrosted Captain America.





	end of the line, and all that

“Sergeant, the position is yours if you want to take it. There’s no one else we’d rather have behind the shield.”

Bucky snorts derisively. “Keep your shield. Ain’t no one’s shield but Steve’s.”

 

* * *

 

He’s never regretted his decision. Technically, he owes S.H.I.E.L.D. nothing; Stark had been the one to find him, the one who’d patched him together and even built him a new limb. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been ready to leave him for dead.

They say he’s lucky he survived the fall. A miraculous combination of local topology and enhanced anatomy saved his life; back then, Bucky had wished he’d perished instead.

A week he’d spent lying in the snow, frostbite eating away at his limbs; a week before Stark’s team, decked out with their fancy detectors and thermal suits, found him. Another month of recovery followed—a month spent unconscious as his body repaired itself and wove around the new prosthetic Howard had cooked up for him. He woke up dazed, confused, and calling for Steve. A day or so passed before he could stay awake for longer than a minute at a time with enough lucidity to hold a conversation. They hadn’t taken long to tell him; Steve was dead. He’d taken command of a plane heading for New York and flew it straight into the ocean to save countless lives. Bucky wanted to go to the Arctic and dig him up himself just so he could slap him silly and tell him what a stupid idea that was.

Physically, he’d recovered quickly. His blood is laced with a mutated knockoff of Steve’s own super serum; it wasn’t the original but it did the job. He assumes this had been their line of thought when they came to offer him the opportunity to take over as Captain America. He’d scoffed and spat his reply at them. There is no Captain America. Captain America was killed in action by his own idiotic heroisms. No one else could possibly take the shield and the uniform; no one else could be as good and pure-hearted as Steve. _Bucky_ certainly couldn’t be.

After a week at home filled with twitching boredom and torturous nightmares, he’d caved and gone crawling back to them. He never took the shield, but he took back his rifle. There are worse things he could be than an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.  

 

* * *

 

 

Steve would like the twenty first century, Bucky thinks. The world is smaller and the universe is bigger than ever. Folks decades his junior complain incessantly about the youth of today but Bucky admires how they use their new technology and connectivity to stand up for themselves. Besides, those folks would rather go back to a time when a curable disease couple topple generations, all for the sake of a little nostalgia.

Bucky has seen the world morph over the decades; it cracked and crumbled at times but in general it stitched itself back together. He feels like the sole audience member for Earth’s longest show. He ages slower than anyone expected—Steve hadn’t been around long enough for observations to be made on the original formula—and he’s floated through the years with a sense of detachment. He’s always been a people person, thrived on attention and relationships, but it’s hard to get too involved after watching generations grow and die before your eyes. He’s never married, never had kids. It’s not the life he’d expected to have—not even close—but he makes a difference, and he thinks Steve would have been proud.

S.H.I.E.L.D. no longer resembles the noir-era spies with their pin striped suits and gimmicky weapons. Instead, it stands as a shadowy monolith; an organisation at the forefront of technological and military power. Entire wars are fought and won online. Information is more easily gathered but just as easily hidden. Bucky has risen through the ranks and adapted with the changing times. He’s been the sniper, the undercover, the surveillance—you name it, he’s done it. He’s helped train generations of agents and fought by their side until their last day, whether it be with a retirement plan or a coffin.

He still finds it in him to go to funerals. Especially for his brothers and sisters in arms, it’s the respect they deserve. The hardest had been the Commandos; they’d scraped through the war without their fearless leader and Bucky had kept in touch when he could. During the war, they’d joked and jibed that at the end of the day, it was bound to be Barnes that outlives them all out of sheer spite with a shit-eating grin on his face. When the day finally came, Bucky hadn’t felt like smiling at all.

Peggy still powers on, despite her waning mind. Sometimes she mistakes him for a worker at the home and other times she berates him the moment he steps in the door, criticising his stubble and the tightness of his jeans and his creased shirt. Those are the days he cherishes most, the days when the true Peggy shines. She’s grown no feebler in her age and is still the strongest dame Bucky’s ever known. He tries to drop by when he’s home from missions and lets her know when he can’t make it, even though he knows sometimes the message will make no sense to her addled mind. It hurts to see her like this but it’s comforting to still have one last familiar face around. Their shared experience isn’t one many others could understand. They both knew the feelings the other had harboured during the war, the feelings that would never quite fade away no matter how many years passed. Steve Rogers touched so many hearts in such little time he’d had; Bucky and Peggy both understood the pain of a love lost before its time.

She talks to him about a man at her reading group who Bucky knows passed away over five years ago but doesn’t correct her when she discusses the meeting as if it had happened yesterday. He sits by her side, a cup of tea cooling in his hands. He’s never been fond of the stuff but Peggy always forces it on him. He placates her and takes a sip or two, but never drinks the whole thing.

“I suppose you’re going to dash off to save the world again,” Peggy says as he finally makes his excuses. He’d meant to leave over half an hour ago but he’s never quite been able to say ‘no’ to her.

He offers her a charming smile and leans over to kiss her pale cheek. “Something like that. I should be gone for a month so don’t worry if I’m not back right away.”

“Look after yourself,” she says, as she always does. And as he always does, he says he will.

The mission is nothing extraordinary. The situation is delicate and requires a careful covert infiltration of a foreign government to take down suspected enemy operatives, but it’s nothing he hasn’t done before.

He meets his partner at the airport. They briefly discuss the mission in carefully coded language and sit separately on the plane. Natasha’s a smart woman; Bucky trusts her to have his back and carry out her own tasks flawlessly.

His bags are stowed and music flows from his headphones as the call comes in. He ignores the flight attendant’s irritated glances as he answers the phone; they haven’t taken off yet and his glare is enough to send her on her way.

“Agent Barnes.”

Bucky freezes. “Fury.”

Nicky Fury has only ever personally called him twice in all the years he’s known him, and on each occasion someone had died. He mentally runs through every situation he can think of that would mandate his superior interfering with an ongoing mission. Each scenario ends at Peggy and Bucky steels himself against the words he knows are coming.

“We need you back at the base.”

“Can I ask why?” Any lesser agent wouldn’t dare question Fury, but Bucky has over thirty years of experience on him and knows he could get away with murder before S.H.I.E.L.D. turns their top asset away.

“It’s a long story.”

“Then tell it.”

He hears a sigh on the other end of the line, and then Fury says, “Stark just dug up a World War Two plane in the Arctic.” Bucky’s body is drenched in ice. His heart stutters and he feels his breath catch in his throat. “There’s a heartbeat. Rogers is alive.”

Bucky pushes past a family of tourists in the aisle to throw up in the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

 

Officially he’s pulled off the mission and reassigned to adjusting Captain America to the modern age. Unofficially, it’s so he can wear tracks into the ground outside the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical wing and accost any nurse or doctor that dares to cross paths with him as they leave the operating theatre.

There’s a window between the surgeries and the hallway but Bucky can’t see much between all the people and machines; he hasn’t even seen Steve’s face yet. Some pessimistic voice within him won’t let him fully accept the situation until he sees Steve himself, but no amount of shouting and glaring has gotten him inside the room yet. It’s been over forty-eight hours of carefully monitored defrosting—for lack of a better term—and Bucky hasn’t left the hallway yet.

He doesn’t realise he has company until a steaming paper cup of hospital coffee is pressed into his flesh hand. He’s off his A-game; his thoughts are jumbled and racing, his mind frazzled and overwhelmed. He can be excused for not noticing the other’s presence.

“The bags under your eyes have bags, Buck. You look like a raccoon,” Tony says.

Bucky’s careful not to spill the coffee when he hugs him. Tony tenses under his hold, unused to affection, but relaxes and pats the agent’s back somewhat awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Bucky says, pulling back.

Tony shrugs nonchalantly. Bucky doesn’t miss the smile playing at his lips. “Who said it was me?”

Bucky arches a brow. “Who else would it have been? We all know you’ve been snooping around up there.”

“Maybe I have a soft spot for glaciology.”

Bucky turns to look through the window again. He can see the outline of a body covered by sheets and obscured by instruments and screens. The doctors all look exhausted; he can’t imagine the pressure of having to ensure Captain America stays whole and unharmed during this process. Tony joins him in watching the show. Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he repeats, “Thank you.”

“No problem, Buckaroo.”

Bucky lets himself be dragged to the locker rooms an hour later with Tony complaining the entire way about how ripe he smells. There’s a freshly laundered set of clothes waiting for him as he steps out of the steam. He intends to return to the medical wing immediately but Tony intercepts him and once again manhandles him into following his orders. Bucky could easily overpower him, especially when Tony’s without his ridiculous tin man costume, but Tony says something about pizza from the joint on 43rd and Bucky’s stomach takes the opportunity to loudly remind him how long it’s been since he last ate. They sit in the cafeteria together and Tony rambles about his latest projects, not minding in the slightest that Bucky doesn’t make any attempt at conversation. He’s grateful for the surprising show of tact; he doesn’t want to sit in silence but he’s not sure he can pretend to care about small talk right now.

Steve is on a table three floors up. Steve is breathing. His heart is beating. He’s _alive_.

Bucky had come to terms with Steve’s death decades ago. He’s never gotten over it, and thought he never would, but many mandated therapy sessions have at least taught him something; pain never really subsides and it’s all he can do to learn to live with it. The scar is still there, if healed over—only someone had reached in and torn the wound open all over again.

He’d supported Howard in searching for Steve, even if S.H.I.E.L.D. eventually lost interest. He’d survived his fall, his time on ice. Steve had fallen a lot further and been frozen a lot longer, but both he and Howard held onto a faint glimmer of hope. His search turned into an obsession and Bucky had watched it eat him alive. He knows Howard felt somewhat responsible for what happened, just as everyone who’d been close to Steve did.

Howard’s search had ended with him.

Bucky had never considered the Starks particularly parental and was just as surprised as everyone else when they joyfully announced their pregnancy, and was further floored when they asked him to be godfather. He thinks it may have been the last good decision Howard ever made. He knows Tony has his reservations about his father, and God knows Bucky had his own issues with the man, but Bucky’s always tried to do right by Tony. He’d always tried to stop by during breaks between missions and bring him some new shiny toy to deconstruct and remake. He’d been there at the funerals, at graduations—how many degrees did one guy need, anyway?—and even stood by him when the twerp in the red and gold getup turned out to be his own godson. Tony had found out about Howard’s ruthless search for the fallen legend while digging through old files and had gone as far as to ask for Bucky’s _permission_ to resume the search. Bucky had been touched by the thought but held a pessimistic view to the whole project. Painful decades had been wasted looking for Steve. He’d never thought Tony would actually go and do it.

“You with me, Buck?”

Bucky blinks, gaze focusing on Tony’s bemused expression.

“You zoned out there. I’m good to go back up if you are.”

He doesn’t ask or complain when Tony stays by his side as he resumes pacing outside the operating room again. It’s almost comforting having someone there.

Tony proves to be a useful companion. He’s more approachable when medics come and go, and understands the jargon they throw at him. He translates it for Bucky and explains which stage they’re at in this arduous process. Steve’s body temperature is almost back to normal and his brain activity shows no signs of abnormality. It’ll be a while before he’s conscious, but a weight lifts from Bucky’s chest at the news.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’re not going home until he’s up and walking,” Tony says. Bucky only shoots him an unimpressed look. “I was going to offer to go to your apartment and get some stuff but if you’re going to be ungrateful about it…”

They move Steve to a more comfortable room and Bucky takes the one adjacent to it. His own room is decked out in neutral creams and sparse décor. When he looks at the camera feeds from Steve’s room, his heart stutters as he sees the resting face of his lost friend, but then he takes in the surroundings about the slumbering man.

“No,” is all he says.

It takes about ten minutes to deconstruct everything wrong with the faux-vintage room. He points out discrepancies between the dated objects and the glaring flaws that Steve would be able to pick up on. He asks which brainiac thought luring Steve into a false sense of security would work out well; he knows just how dazed and disordered waking up from a situation like this can be—he’s not about to let S.H.I.E.L.D. play dress up to add to the confusion. Besides, if they wanted the place to feel familiar, they wouldn’t have put so much expensive stuff in there. Steve’s never slept in luxury in his life.

He lets them leave the record player, though, with strict instructions for someone to pick up a copy of Steve’s favourite song.

(That’s something to add to the ‘I love this century’ list, he thinks. He’s glad vinyl is back in style.)

Fury swings by with a manila folder containing detailed instructions for Bucky’s new posting as liaison between Captain America and the rest of the world. Between perfecting the room and watching the camera feeds, Bucky’s had little time for anything else and had almost forgotten that this is something he’s _supposed_ to be doing. He assumes this is why he’s been assigned to Steve’s case; they wouldn’t be able to remove him from his side if they tried.

“You been in yet?” Fury asks.

Bucky takes the folder and shakes his head. He’s spent hours watching the careful rise and fall of Steve’s chest, watching his expressionless face for any sign of movement. Guilt riddles him as he recalls how little hope he’d had in ever seeing Steve again. Watching him on a screen feels like a vice wrapped around his heart; he’s not sure he can handle seeing him in the flesh just yet.

“That’s your mission briefing with a timeline from the day he wakes up. You’re our liaison to the world’s greatest hero, Barnes. Don’t fuck this up.”

He leaves with that cheerful message. Bucky scowls at his back.

The folder contains pages and pages of text. He skims the document only to find that it’s a checklist that details everything he needs to cover with Steve and how to approach acclimatising him to the new century. There are instructions on how to introduce him to technology, which political and social events to cover first, where in New York to take him. Bucky finishes reading it and throws the whole folder in the trash. He doesn’t need instructions on how to talk to Steve.

He’s asleep when it happens. Tony had stayed true to his promise and brought Bucky everything he needed from his apartment and Bucky only left to sleep in his room for an hour or so at a time. It’s not that he didn’t trust the agents monitoring Steve’s room to do their jobs, but he trusts himself to do it better. He doesn’t miss the irony in the fact that Steve starts to move in the limited time Bucky isn’t there to see. The agents on duty run to wake him up as soon as they see the Captain’s face start to twitch.

Panic shoots through Bucky. In a moment of madness, he rushes to his bathroom and observes his reflection. He hasn’t shaved his stubble in a day or so and his hair has been tidier. The dark circles under his eyes are still prominent but there’s not much he can do about that right now. He grabs a hoody as he leaves the room and slips it on to cover his metal arm.

Steve’s sat up in bed by the time Bucky gets to the monitoring station. His lost expression breaks something deep within Bucky and he sets off at a run to get to the room. His chest rises in a deep steadying breath. He blows it out in a long sigh, and raises his hand to knock on the door. He turns the handle before Steve replies, cracking the door open enough to slip in and close it behind him once again.

Steve is stood up, stooped in a defensive stance. The fabric of his white shirt stretches over his chest and his cotton pants are just a hair too short. His eyes are bluer than they have any right to be and pierce straight through Bucky as he stares at him. Bucky’s heart races in his chest; his entire body tingles and his eyes prick with tears.

“… Buck?”

Bucky smiles a slow, crooked smile. “Hey, Stevie.”

Tension in Steve’s posture fades and he takes a hesitant step forward. Wrinkles form between his brows at he frowns. “You’re… You died. Buck, you’re dead.”

His hand is stretched forwards, almost reaching out for him. Bucky walks closer and takes the hand in his own and holds it to his chest. “I’m not, Steve. I’m here.”

“Am _I_ dead?”

Bucky huffs a quiet, breathy laugh. “No. You’re here too.”

The world stops for an eternity around them, and then it all comes crashing down at once. Steve surges forwards and Bucky catches him in his arms, holding him in a tight embrace. He can’t remember what Steve says to him or what placations he murmurs in return. Their eyes are damp and cheeks wet when they take a seat on the bed. The record player croons in the background while all they can do is breathe.

“I don’t understand,” Steve says.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Steve frowns in thought. “… The plane? I was flying it. I wanted to…”

“To save everyone. You flew that plane straight into the Arctic, Steve.”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that was it.”

“First off, that was stupid, you self-sacrificing shit.” Steve smiles at him and warmth spreads through Bucky’s chest. “Secondly, you went down into the ice and stayed there for over sixty years.”

“… What?”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Steve.”

He spends an hour explaining what had happened. His story is as detailed as it can be and he answers every question Steve throws at him. He tells him about how he woke up a month after he fell from the train which a piercing headache and a fancy new arm. He tells him about how the war ended and the Howling Commandos disbanded. He tells him about how he took a job with S.H.I.E.L.D. and even worked a few missions with Peggy. He tells him about all the years they spent searching for him, about all the new technology Howard developed for the cause, about how Tony took over and achieved what his father never could. He tells him where they are, who’s watching them, and that they’re as safe as they could be right now.

“You’ve been unconscious for a few days since they defrosted you. You should be good as new but they’ll want to double check and do a couple of exams.”

He’s proud of himself for covering essentially everything Fury had instructed him to do upon Steve waking. Steve, for his part, has only dotted a question in every now and then and stayed mostly silent. Bucky lets the silence linger, waiting for some grand reply, but all Steve says is, “Are you a robot now?”

Bucky snorts. He shrugs off his hoody and watches Steve’s eyes widen as he sees the arm glint in the light. He holds it out, giving permission for Steve to touch, and the sensors barely register Steve’s fingers as they graze over the surface with a feather-light touch.

“It’s so futuristic.”

“Technically, it’s modern.”

A minute or so passes and Bucky lets Steve sit against the headboard of his bed and stare into the distance. There’s a lot to take in and they have all the time in the world. He knows there are people watching them, people who probably want to break into the room and start their twenty-minute presentation on why Steve should take up the Cap mantle again, but Bucky will shield Steve from the world until he’s ready to face it.

“What do I do now?” Steve asks in a small voice.

“We’re in the S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ right now. They have a suite ready for you on another floor or an apartment downtown if you wanna move out. I’d guess they’re both riddled with bugs.” He leaves it a beat before he smiles and continues, “ _Or_ you can come crash at my place.”

It’s an easy decision, really.

Bucky relinquishes his monopoly on Steve and opens the floodgates for the doctors. They take a blood sample and check all of Steve’s vitals and generally dither about. Bucky stays by the wall, watching silently. He catches one of the nurses as she heads out and asks for shoes and a coat to be brought over.

No one stops them as they leave. Steve’s focus flits about wildly, as if he expects someone to jump from the shadows to apprehend him. Bucky’s already fought tooth and nail for Steve’s freedom; he’d like to see his superior officers try to stop them.

“You’ll need to come back for weekly pysch evals,” Bucky drawls as they take the elevator down to the garage. “And someone set up an appointment with a lawyer for next week so you can sort out all your affairs ‘n shit. I’m pretty sure you’re owed a _lotta_ backpay.” Steve only nods silently and looks vaguely terrified at the prospect. Bucky hastily adds on, “But for now we can just go home and get some pizza. We’ve got a lotta Disney movies to catch you up on, pal.”

A small smile flickers across Steve’s lips. “They still makin’ them?”

Bucky takes the car Tony had dropped off for him, a beautiful Porsche from the sixties. Steve lets out a low whistle when he sees it. Bucky tries not to feel too smug. He takes the long route home and drives slowly so Steve can ogle everything as they pass. Bucky tries to think back to their childhood, to the grimy Brooklyn streets that raised them, and compares it to this buzzing metropolis. He can hardly blame Steve for having his nose pressed to the window.

Neither of them sleep that night. Bucky feels emotionally and physically drained enough to sleep for a week but he can’t tear himself from Steve’s side for longer than five minutes; he’s scared that if he even so much as blinks, Steve will disappear. Steve seems to share his sentiment and stays with Bucky even as he potters about cleaning up his apartment. S.H.I.E.L.D. pays well but the place is nothing too large or flashy; he’ll leave it to Tony to dazzle Steve with luxury.

They sit together on the couch and talk for hours. Steve has little to fill him in on—Bucky already knows what happened in the time between his fall and Steve’s death—so Bucky speaks until his voice is hoarse and his throat runs dry. He tells Steve everything he wants to know, everything he’d left out before. It’s dawned on Steve in the time since he woke up that almost everyone he knew before is now dead. In what felt like days for him, his world has been forgotten, his friends and comrades now names on gravestones. Bucky holds him as he chokes through sobs.

He tells him about Peggy and promises to bring him along the next time he visits. He says that his old apartment building is somehow still standing and even has a small memorial to him inside. He tries to lighten the mood by recounting all the variations of the Captain America story that have sprung up over the years, from comic books to movies to television shows. There are still fans after all these years, but Bucky doubts Steve has to worry about being recognised before he’s ready to tell the world his story. The legend has been twisted and morphed so much over the years and people associate ‘Steve Rogers’ with actors and characters more than the real man behind the shield.

Steve plays with the fingers of Bucky’s metal arm and marvels at how life-like the limb is. Bucky recounts the story of Howard’s design and how the man had bugged him endlessly when Bucky got home from war. He complained that Bucky wasn’t suited to the civilian lifestyle, that he was wasting the arm’s potential. Bucky would never admit it, but Howard had been right. He tells Steve about the modifications over the years and how Tony had stripped his father’s work bare and built it from the basics up. He could snap a man’s neck with the flick of his wrist, but Steve only stares at the arm in awe, not fear.

The mention of Tony leads to anecdotes about the boy that leave Steve heaving for breath with tears of laughter in his eyes. Bucky promises to introduce them and makes a silent note to ensure that happens as far in the future as possible.

Bucky turns in as the sun starts to rise. Steve says he just spent decades asleep and insists that Bucky takes the lone bed. He only manages two hours of fitful rest before he gives in and dresses for the day ahead.

In the kitchen, he takes the opportunity to introduce Steve to twenty first century technology in the form of the expensive coffee machine Tony made him.

(“ _Made_?”

“Yeah, made.”)

He ends up writing instructions for black coffee on a post-it note and sticking it to the machine. Looking back, it probably wasn’t the best place to start; Tony loves overcomplicating simple tasks.

He shows Steve his phone after he hooks it up to a speaker and fills the kitchen with smooth jazz. Steve handles the device and presses a few buttons. Bucky hides his smile in his coffee when Steve’s face glows with delight when he figures out how to unlock it. Bucky tells him to press more gently on the screen and lets him figure out what all the icons mean. Steve manages to call his landlord and delete an app or two, but Bucky thinks it’s a strong start.

They pick up a couple of bagels and head to Central Park. Bucky’s always been a Brooklyn boy at heart and never been able to move closer to the centre, so it takes them a while to get there. He takes Steve on the subway and shows him how to get tickets and work the barriers. Steve spends a few minutes playing with an interactive map and watching moving posters before Bucky pulls him away.

He stops to get them more coffee when they reach Manhattan and choses to avoid taking Steve to Starbucks just yet. He pulls them into an independent store and Steve frowns quizzically the menu listed on the chalkboard above the counter. Bucky says not to worry; no one really knows what the difference between all the drinks are anyway.

They’re sat on a bench in the park by the time people start shuffling through their morning commute. Steve watches runners on their morning jog. Bucky watches Steve.

“Am I supposed to join S.H.I.E.L.D. now? Since they found me ‘n all.”

“Technically you’d need to go work at the Stark building since Tony found you but I don’t think you’d like all the robots and explosions.”

“This Stark kid is sounding more and more confusing,” Steve says.

Bucky shakes his head with a laugh. “You have no idea. I’ve known him since he was born. Guy’s my godson and I don’t even understand him most of the time.”

Steve turns to look at him with wide eyes. “You didn’t mention that.” Laughter plays at his voice; Bucky’s heart flips when he hears it.

“Didn’t I?” He looks away with a shrug. “Got close to Howard since we were both lookin’ for you. He said he trusted me to be there for the kid if anything happened to him.”

Steve lets out a long sigh. “I keep forgetting people are—that they’re not here anymore.”

Bucky understands to an extent. It hasn’t been as sudden for him but he’s had to watch everyone grow old without him. He thinks he might be the only person on the planet who understands Steve right now.  

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy is having a good day when he drops by. She interrogates him as to why he’s back so early and he tells her he has a surprise for her. Of course, being as stubborn as she is, she demands that he drops the theatrics. Bucky only grins.

“It’s a good surprise, Peg, I promise.”

He heads back to the door and slips out to the hallway. Steve is fussing with his hair in the reflection of a framed painting.

“You look fine, punk. Get your ass in here.”

Steve looks liable to faint or throw up as he nears the room so Bucky grabs him by the hand and marches him inside himself.

“… _Oh_.”

Peggy sits as upright as she can in her seat, a frail hand clutched to her chest. She stares at Steve with her mouth agape. Steve gives her a boyish smile.

“Hi, Peggy.”

“Oh, _Steve_.”

Neither notice as Bucky slips from the room. He decides to take himself on a walk through the neighbourhood while he gives them some privacy. After almost an hour, he picks up a bouquet of flowers and makes his way back. They’re both red eyed and smiling when he knocks on the door and lets himself in.

“I brought flowers,” he announces.

Peggy rolls her eyes. “Always the charmer.”

When the time crawls around for them to leave, Steve presses a sweet kiss to her cheek and promises to return soon. Bucky does the same, and Peggy holds him close.

“You take care of that boy,” she says softly.

Bucky smiles. “Always have.”

 

* * *

 

 

The step-by-step guide on how to introduce a man from the forties to modern technology is long forgotten. Steve now has a phone of his own, simple and cheap but it gets the job done. Bucky added it to his plan and programmed his own number as speed dial one; it’s still the only number on the phone. Steve likes to watch over Bucky’s shoulder as he scrolls through various social media and news apps in the morning but he hasn’t installed any on his own phone. Bucky thinks it’s a wise decision.

He’s mastered the basics of using Bucky’s laptop and ignores Bucky’s snickers as he types like a grandma with his index fingers. He’d never been a fast typist back when they had typewriters and all the additional keys give him more reason to tap away as slow as molasses. He spends a lot of time on Wikipedia, starting with the entry on his own life and falling down the rabbit hole from there. Bucky confiscates the laptop after an hour when Steve starts making his own account so he can edit the entry on World War Two firearms.

They spend their evenings working through a backlog of media. Steve can now work the controller for Bucky’s flashy television without staring at the buttons. He hasn’t a clue how the device works or how thousands and thousands of hours of entertainment are just sitting in the sleek black box waiting to be watched, but he can navigate to the search bar just fine. After an extensive Disney marathon, Bucky had made the executive decision to introduce Steve to Lord of the Rings. They’d adored the Hobbit as children and watching Steve’s face light up as the fantasy world is brought to life almost makes the decades spent mourning his friend worth it.

He catches Steve eyeing his mission bag a few times. The black duffle holds his rifle and stand, plus a few more gadgets he’d need for any sudden mission. It sits by his nightstand, unused for a couple of weeks now. Often he doesn’t have the luxury of prep-time when he’s called upon for an assignment, but lately it seems he hasn’t been on the roster. S.H.I.E.L.D. apparently wants him babysitting Steve fulltime and won’t risk sending him away at such a crucial time. He knows they’re vying for Steve’s loyalty and hoping he dons the uniform once more, but Bucky won’t let them pull any of their manipulative tactics. Steve’s entire world has been toppled and turned on its head. He needs to be grounded and to process what happened to him before S.H.I.E.L.D. tries to shimmy their way into his life. Technically, he’s still property of the U.S. government but he’d like to see anyone try to get past him to their precious Captain.

Despite the fact that Steve won’t be entering a combat scenario anytime soon, Bucky shows him the bag. After Steve’s meeting with a team of lawyers and financial advisors, he’d taken him aside and dumped the entire contents of the bag on the kitchen table. He knows how therapeutic it can be to dismantle and clean firearms, so he lets Steve take apart the rifle and hand guns as a way to unwind from the arduous meeting. He shows him the new sound grenades and flash bomb prototypes. He tells him how to activate the state-of-the-art GPS trackers and how to install bugs smaller than anyone could detect without knowing it was there. Steve handles the objects with deft fingers and takes on the information with ease, always the observant, faithful soldier.

Bucky feels physically sick with guilt as he holds Steve down during a night terror later. He stays with him until the screaming subsides and his breathing evens out, and they don’t talk about it in the morning.

Ironically, Steve’s first therapy appointment is scheduled for that afternoon. Bucky offers to drive them in the car he hasn’t returned to Tony yet but Steve eyes the sleek Harley parked beside it. Bucky’s never been able to say no to his pout. He draws the line at letting Steve drive it, though; he’s not about to let Steve loose on his bike on the highway.

He parks outside an old brownstone building and walks with Steve to the third floor. He quizzes him on U.S. presidents since Roosevelt and Steve’s enhanced memory and time on Wikipedia allow him to pass with flying colours. It serves as a useful distraction to stop Steve worrying at his lower lip or chewing his nails. He sits shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh with Steve in the waiting room gives him a reassuring nod when his name is called. The appointment is only supposed to last an hour so he waits. The receptionist has refilled his coffee cup four times by the time Steve returns, red-eyed and weary. Bucky glances at the clock—it’s been well over two and a half hours—and doesn’t say a word as they walk back to the bike.

 

* * *

 

 

He wants to talk about it, he really does. Steve doesn’t mention it. He acts as natural as ever around Bucky, perhaps keeping him a little closer than strictly necessary, but nothing is said of the words they exchanged all those years ago. Bucky doesn’t want to push it. He only just got Steve back; he doesn’t want to drive him away before he’s ready.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve has a list of things he wants to do. Some are a little more complicated and require some planning but Bucky has S.H.I.E.L.D. working on obtaining Steve a passport so they can globetrot and visit all of the Howling Commandos’ graves. He shows Steve to a talented florist in the neighbourhood so he can pick up something nice when they wander back to the streets of their childhood. Steve picks out his mother’s grave in the rows of crumbling stone. Bucky helps him clean it and stands by his side as Steve tells her about everything that’s happened.

Some things are easier and not so emotionally taxing to achieve. Bucky picks up a couple of albums from the record store a few blocks over so Steve can finally call in on that rain check with Peggy. He smiles as they sway together and takes a photograph on his phone that Steve later has framed.

They try out all manner of international dishes at various restaurants and tip generously to the waiters who put up with their ridiculously large orders. They visit a local theatre and watch the new Pixar movie and Bucky explains afterwards how they use computers and models to animate the flicks nowadays. They spend a full day as tourists and visit all the typical sites one expects from New York. Steve is so lost admiring how everything looks in this new millennium that he doesn’t notice the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents trailing them to each location. Bucky notices. He texts Natasha to let her know that the tag on her shirt is out.

Steve opts out of helping him shop for groceries. They’d tried it once a few days after he moved in and the combination of the sheer volume of products, the choice and the waste, and the push of people threw Steve into an odd mood. Bucky hadn’t questioned as he pulled Steve away and drove them home. He shops alone now.

He’s looking through the shelves of video games, searching for inspiration. Steve has yet to cave into Bucky’s requests but he thinks that maybe something not based in warfare would be more appealing. He’s weighing his options between Mario Kart and the Legend of Zelda when he spots it. He’s never been the frivolous sort—he leaves that kind of thing to Tony—but he doesn’t second guess himself as he grabs the graphics tablet and adds it to the cart. He looks up a few online tutorials later and hooks it up to his laptop to show Steve. Steve’s smile is blinding and makes Bucky’s insides turn to butterflies.

 

* * *

 

 

Three more sessions with the therapist later and S.H.I.E.L.D. and Stark Industries send over representatives from their public relations departments to discuss the announcement. Steve isn’t an idiot; he’d known this was coming. He’d confessed to Bucky that he’s surprised he’s been allowed to live quietly for this long, having expected them to shout it to the world the moment they found him. Bucky quietly agrees.

Tony invites them over when it becomes obvious that Stark Industries is going to be leading this circus. Pepper greets them at the door and Steve is suitably charming and charismatic. Bucky hides his smile when he hears him don his Captain America voice.

To Tony’s credit, he only cracks one Capsicle and three pensioner jokes when he meets Steve. Steve, well versed in Bucky’s own teasing humour, takes it in his stride.

“I hear I have you to thank for finding me,” he says.

Tony smiles his billionaire playboy smile. “Thanks for being easy to find.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. He knows for a fact that Tony spent years and millions of dollars developing sensitive heat detecting technology, but he doesn’t call him out on it.

“So, boys, martinis? I always need martinis to plan these things. I’ve been told I have to behave and that’s always a little easier with some dry vermouth.” Tony’s words roll easily off his tongue and he shows them to his expansive lounge. Plush, white leather sofas sit in the space closest to them and behind them bar stools stand at an even height. The bar itself is more well-stocked than Bucky has seen some liquor stores. Both he and Steve turn down the martinis. Neither of them can feel the effects and Bucky’s never been much of a fan of cocktails.

Pepper sits with them on the couches and runs through the briefing she’s already pulled up on her tablet. “I’m assuming you’ll be at the press conference, Steve?”

Steve nods. “Guess I’ll have to be. Not sure how many people would believe you without proof.”

Tony snorts from the bar. “I’ve done crazier things, Cap. Digging up a dinosaur in the Arctic wouldn’t surprise anyone.”

Pepper graciously ignores the peanut gallery. “I’m going to have Tony make the announcement. I’ve got a basic script written up—give it a read and see what you think—but it would be helpful if you wouldn’t mind adding a few words yourself.” And just like that, Pepper and Steve bow their heads together, tackling the problem like it’s a military strategy. Bucky leaves them to it. He glances over to Tony and raises his brows when he sees the man already watching him. Bucky considers his posture and how closely he’s sitting to Steve. He doesn’t need to question what Tony’s thinking when he smirks and raises his glass in a silent toast.

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s like the Stark Expo all over again,” Steve says, jaw slack with wonder. Bucky grins and tugs on his shirt.

“Come on, we ain’t got all day.” They do have all day, but he’s excited to show Steve around.

The local mall isn’t anything special by any means. It’s a typical shopping centre with the expected stores, but when compared to the run-down streets of their childhood, it’s a veritable paradise. Steve gawks at every store they pass and lingers by the art store. Bucky says they can go there afterwards once they’ve got everything they need.

He’s taken Steve to Manhattan—he’s seen the sights and the bright lights—but he’s never taken him to a mall before. It’s different to the stores sprawled on the streets or hidden in glass buildings. Everything is bright and loud and screaming for attention. Bucky watches Steve closely for any signs of discomfort but Steve handles it well. He hasn’t told Bucky much of what he discusses in therapy, but whatever it is seems to be working.

He drags Steve into a men’s clothing store he favours. He’d ordered a new bed for the spare room and a matching chest of drawers for the belongings Steve’s acquired. They plan on asking the Smithsonian for the artefacts they’d taken from Steve’s old locker and apartment once the announcement is made, but until then, Bucky has to kit him out with a new wardrobe of modern clothes. As much as he appreciates seeing Steve kitted out in his own clothes, he’s running low on underwear and would appreciate not having to do laundry twice as often.

Steve gravitates to the simple cotton shirts and brushes his hand along the soft material. He fishes the price tag from the neckline and balks. Bucky frowns and joins him, and then has to explain that yes, that’s a reasonable price for a shirt, no, Steve, people are paid a lot more nowadays.

He ignores Steve’s complaints and sends him off to the changing room with hundreds of dollars’ worth of clothes. His backpay came through the other day; he can afford it.

He takes him to a sports store next and shows him the various materials designed especially for exercise. They pick up some new running shoes for him so he can stop stealing Bucky’s every morning.

Their final stop has Steve whining more than ever. Bucky can hardly contain his glee. The store has a guard at the front to open the door for customers. He greets them both with an amicable smile and a nod.

“Buck, can’t we pick up a normal suit?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Can’t have Captain America showing up for his own grand reveal in something off the rack. I promised Pepper we’d get something tailored.”

He doesn’t hide his ogling when Steve strips to be measured. He catches Steve’s eye in the mirror as the tailor loops the measuring tape about Steve’s chest. Bucky smirks at the blush dusting his cheeks.

Steve picks up some new graphite and fixing spray on the way home. Bucky spends the evening reading a thriller novel and staying perfectly still as Steve draws him. Steve gives it to him before he turns in for the night. Bucky digs out an old frame so he can hang it up.

 

* * *

 

 

He knows they should talk about it.

They’d traded innocent kisses during their childhood, fuelled by curiosity and confusing emotions, and spent a few far less innocent nights together before Bucky’s deployment. They’d both played it off as ‘just some fun’. They’d both been lying.

After thinking they’d lost each other forever, they finally told the truth. Fate enjoyed irony and they never had the time or privacy during the war to do much about the confessed feelings. They held each other close at night and whispered sweet nothings until they gave into exhaustion. During watch one night, Bucky had told Steve he loved and he’d meant it, possibly for the first time in his life. It had been looming and terrifying but Steve’s smile and whispered words of love in return made him feel like he was soaring. But they had their mission and their team to prioritise. They’d felt like giddy teenagers fantasising about a future in which they return home and move in together and go on all the dates they desired.

Bucky cried himself raw the first night he’d woken up from his fall and realised they’d never have that.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve stares the first time he sees two girls holding hands in the café they frequent. The girls bow their heads together and giggle at something. Steve frowns as they lean in for a quick kiss. Bucky has already explained certain social movements and equality laws that have been instated since his time on ice but he doesn’t think they’ve seen an openly queer couple in public yet.

Bucky nudges Steve’s leg under the table with his foot. He shoots him a questioning look and Steve only shakes his head.

 

* * *

 

 

They stay in that evening. Steve cooks and Bucky supplies copious glasses of wine, some of which makes it into the stew as the purchased had been intended. They can’t get drunk but it’s fun to pretend. Soft jazz fills the kitchen and Steve hums along off-key. It tickles Bucky to know that after all these years, Steve still can’t hold a tune; there are some things a supersoldier serum just can’t fix.

Bucky watches him from his perch atop the counter. The stew is a recipe from Steve’s mother and he’s been given strict instructions to not interfere. Steve has relaxed grey jeans on with a navy, cotton V-neck stretching across the expanse of his back. His feet are clad in socks decorated with stars and stripes, a gift courtesy of Tony. He sways in time to the gentle rhythm as he stirs the pot.

Feeling eyes on him, Steve looks over and smiles slowly. He abandons his post before the stove as he approaches Bucky, slotting himself between open legs. Bucky’s heart catches into his throat and it’s all he can do to follow Steve as he pulls him down from the counter. Steve’s hands linger at his waist as he coaxes Bucky into moving in time with him. Bucky finds his hands snaking about Steve’s broad shoulders. He’s a little taller than Bucky; he has to tils his head up to pull him down for a kiss. Steve sighs through his nose and pulls Bucky closer, flush to him, hands curling into the bare strip of skin between the hem of Bucky’s shirt and the waistline of his pants. They kiss slowly, languidly for a while. At some point Steve must decide he’s tired being patient and pushes Bucky back against the counter, leaning over him and holding him with a possessive grip. Bucky can’t say he minds.

He opens himself to Steve willingly, enthusiastically. Steve sucks and nips and licks his way into Bucky’s mouth. A wayward groan falls from Bucky’s lips as Steve kisses his way down his neck and bites at a particularly sensitive spot he must remember from years ago. He threads a metal hand through Steve’s hair and holds him there for a minute. The stew boils over as Steve hoists Bucky up and carries him off with Bucky’s legs wrapped about his waist. Neither of them notices. Neither of them cares.

 

* * *

 

 

The announcement goes by with as much media frenzy as they’d expected. Bucky pulls out his own tailored suit from deep within his closet so he can stand beside Steve on stage in an act of support. Maybe one day they’d hold hands in front of the cameras but for now, this is between them and no one else.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve tags along when Bucky heads over to Tony’s ridiculous tower for maintenance on his arm.

“I _think_ I like him,” Steve says. Bucky understands the sentiment. Tony’s an easy man to love but a hard man to like.

“He’s got a good heart,” Bucky replies. “His mouth could do with some work, though.”

Their bruises and scratches have faded in the hours since they left bed, courtesy of accelerated healing, but Tony must read it on their faces. Only Bucky’s hardest glare saves them from hours of innuendos.

His arm is in better shape than it typically is when he drops by for routine repairs. He hasn’t been in the field since Steve woke up. Being with Steve and introducing them to the new world feels so natural he’d almost forgotten he’s getting paid for it. Tony compliments him on keeping the arm in one piece and Bucky lets him play around with it as he ignores Tony’s babbling about synaptic upgrades and programming rewrites.

Steve sits in a far chair and quietly sketches. Bucky catches his eye once or twice and winks. Steve hasn’t quite gotten over blushing at the gesture but rolls his eyes nonetheless.

When Tony announces he’s done, Bucky grabs his shirt and pulls it back on.

“See you soon, fellas,” Tony says as he shows them out.

“You know what he’s talkin’ about?” Steve asks as the elevator doors slide shut. Bucky shrugs. He never usually knows what Tony’s talking about. He finds it easier not to ask.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve bought himself a custom Harley not long after the announcement. It’s the only expensive thing he’s ever owned and treats it as his pride and joy. He’s started waving off Bucky’s offers to drive him to therapy. He says he’ll be fine and rides off alone.

Bucky takes the few hours to himself to pull out all of the paperwork he’s neglected filling out and filing away. He gives up within minutes and decides to visit Peggy instead.

An orderly shows him to her room after he signs the guestbook. “She’s having a good day,” he says. “She’s been a bit bad lately with the Captain America thing. I think it confused her but she knows where she is today.”

Bucky knocks sharply on the door and lets himself in. Peggy fixes him with a smile as he comes in and makes a fuss of pouring him a cup of tea. He accepts it, as he always does, and takes a polite sip before setting it down.

“How are you, Barnes?” she asks.

“Better now I’ve seen you, Pegs.”

She huffs. “You’ve used that line on every skirt you’ve chased.”

Bucky grins. “Can’t blame me for complimenting a beautiful lady, can you?”

She changes the subject. “How’s Steve?”

Bucky knows Steve visits the care home at least weekly. He doesn’t blame her for requesting a second opinion on Steve’s wellbeing; the man himself can’t usually be trusted to give an accurate response.

“He’s good. I think he’s getting more used to it. Stops getting surprised at stuff or expecting people to be there when they’ve been dead for years.” He doesn’t mention the nightmares or the panic attacks. Peggy’s a smart woman; she probably knows already. “He gets down at times but he’s pullin’ through like a trooper. He’s opening up more, too.”

“Meaning you bully him into telling you what’s wrong?”

“Course. He’d hold the weight of the world on his shoulders before he lets anyone help.”

A beat passes and Bucky can see her carefully deciding how to phrase her following question. “Has he decided what to do?”

“If that ain’t the million dollar question.” Bucky leans back in his chair and sighs. “Honestly? I don’t know. I think he wants to get back into the action but it’s hard to figure out if he’s ready or if he wants to because people are _expectin’_ it. It hasn’t been that long for him since he last fought a war. Guy deserves a break. And we’ve got S.H.I.E.L.D. breathin’ down our necks every time we go out. They only keep their distance because they know I won’t let them talk to him before he’s ready.”

“And he wouldn’t agree to anything unless you were happy with it,” Peggy adds. Bucky holds her devious gaze, willing his neutral expression to not crack. “How are you both doing?”

“We’re good,” Bucky says carefully.

Peggy levels him with an unimpressed look. “I’m old, James, not an idiot. You’ve been in love with that man for the better part of a century now. If you haven’t done anything about it then you’re more stupid than I ever thought you were and I’ll have to get up and beat some sense into you, arthritis be damned.”

Bucky can’t help it; he grins. “Never change, Peggy.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve is quiet after therapy—he usually is. Bucky holds him in a tight embrace when he comes home and they don’t move for a few minutes. He orders in some Thai food from the place Steve likes while Steve sets up the television. Steve hadn’t been much of a fan of Star Wars, to Bucky’s absolute horror, but he enjoys the camp, retro-futuristic vibes of the original Star Trek series.

“It’s more optimistic,” Steve explains. “They’re just exploring and reaching out to new communities.”

The choice makes sense when Bucky thinks about it.

By the time the third episode rolls around, the takeout containers are empty and Bucky’s curled into Steve’s side. The tension has eased from Steve’s muscles and he’s gotten more talkative. His chest heaves as he chuckles at Bucky’s snide commentary and his thumb rubs soothing circles against the scar tissue on Bucky’s shoulder.

As the credits appear on screen, Steve places a finger beneath Bucky’s chin and tilts his head up. Bucky had been on the brink of sleep and smiles into the lazy kiss. He lets himself be manhandled as Steve pulls him onto his lap and cranes his head as Steve nips at his jaw.

“I love you,” he murmurs, threading blond locks between his fingers.

He can feel Steve’s smile against his skin. “I love you too, Buck.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nick Fury visits as they’re sparring in the gym. It’s an old-school, local kind of place with a veteran owner who doesn’t mind a couple of supersoldiers letting themselves in after hours to work off some steam. Steve has the advantage of sheer strength and brutality. Bucky has decades of training on him and is nimbler on his feet. They’re evenly matched.

Bucky notices Fury the moment he steps foot into the room. The man stays in the shadow of the doorway and watches them. Neither he nor Steve make a move to stop their fight and greet him until he announces himself.

“Impressive stuff, gentleman,” he says in that tone of his that makes every comment sound like an insult. Bucky rolls off Steve and catches his breath as he lays on the floor. Steve stands and extends a hand to him to pull him to his feet. Bucky throws him a towel and grabs another for himself to wipe the dampness from his skin.

“You need something?” Bucky says.

“Nick Fury,” he replies, ignoring Bucky and holding a hand to Steve.

Steve eyes the hand warily and shakes it. “I know who you are.”

Fury’s lips curve in a hint of a smile. “I’ve got a proposition for you, Captain.”

Bucky rolls his eyes as he wanders over to the water fountain to refill his bottle. Steve shoots him an alarmed look as he walks away. Bucky only grins. He’s had his recruitment talk; it’s time for Steve’s turn.

“I’m assembling a highly specialised team of unique individuals,” Fury continues, seemingly oblivious to the boys’ exchange. Bucky would bet he knows exactly what Bucky is mouthing behind his back and is electing to ignore it. “We want you at the lead, Cap.”

Steve looks no less cautious. “What kind of team?”

“The kind of team that deals with problems no one else can. We’ve got gods and aliens falling from the sky and who knows what else crawling out of the woodwork. The world is changing and we need a team who can keep up.”

“That’s not much to go off,” Steve points out. “I haven’t worn the stars and stripes in over sixty years.”

“Technically, for you it’s only been a couple of months,” Fury quips.

Steve looks over Fury’s shoulder and at Bucky. Bucky has his towel slung over one shoulder and a plastic bottle dangling from his metal fingers. He can see the question in Steve’s eyes and shrugs. If it were up to him, he’d wrap Steve in bubble wrap and hide him from the world. He knows Steve, though; he’s never been able to stand idly by when he can step in and do something.

Steve looks back to Fury and squares his shoulders. “I’ll do it if Bucky does.”

Fury looks over his shoulder to Bucky, brows raised. “Ready for mission reassignment, Barnes?”

Bucky grins crookedly. “Do I have a choice?”

Fury doesn’t reply. His long coat swings behind him as turns to leave, adding to the dramatic effect. Bucky, personally, thinks the man is ridiculous.

Steve’s shoulders sag as soon as the door closes behind the director. Bucky is by his side in an instant, one arm wrapped about his waist and lips pressed to his temple.

“Was that okay?” Steve asks. “I’ll pull out if you don’t want to.”

“Nah, I want to. Sounds fun.”

Steve smiles. Bucky’s heart flips. “Good, ‘cause there’s no one else I’d rather have watching my back.”

Bucky can’t help it; he presses a quick kiss to that dazzling smile. “Ain’t nowhere you can go that I won’t follow, Stevie. End of the line, and all that.”


End file.
